


i grew tall to fill the void

by alexanger



Series: i forget sometimes just how to breathe [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 12:47:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12841482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: an ending, of sorts.





	i grew tall to fill the void

“Everyone is staring,” James mutters.

“Nah,” says Thomas. He leans on the back of the wheelchair James is sitting in. “That’s your imagination, Jimmy John’s. No one is staring at you.”

“People look at me,” James insists, “and then they look away. It’s embarrassing.”

“Okay, maybe, but check out this sick fountain. Would you be seeing this fountain if you were inside?” Thomas asks. He gestures at the little pond they’re passing by, his hand somewhat vaguely flapping at the fountain in the centre. “Ducks and everything, my dude.”

“My dude,” James echoes.

“Bro,” Thomas adds. “Buddy pal. Friendo.”

That gets a laugh out of James. It starts small, barely a chuckle, and then evolves into a hearty laugh. “Cool masculine things to call your boyfriend,” he says, looking back over his shoulder.

“I got more. Chum,” says Thomas.

“Amigo,” James suggests.

“Homie,” Thomas says seriously.

“Homie?” James asks. “I mean, okay, whatever floats your goat.”

“See, you’re making fun of me, but who just made you laugh? Oh, that’s right, this guy.” Thomas takes his hands off the handles of the wheelchair and points his thumbs at himself.

“Don’t do that,” James says.

“I bet you don’t want me to do this either,” says Thomas, and he grabs the handles and wiggles them so the chair swerves back and forth in tight movements across the path.

“Fucker!” gasps James. He grabs the armrests and holds tight, kicking his feet out a little. The second Thomas is done jiggling the chair he turns around again and says, “you could have killed me, you asshole!” He’s grinning, though, his eyes bright. Thomas laughs and shakes his head.

“Thought that was what you wanted, Jellybean.”

“Not like that,” James says. “Are we joking about it now?”

“I thought that was how you did things,” says Thomas.

“Yeah, man,” says James, “I just didn’t know  _ you  _ did it.”

“Man. Another thing to call your boyfriend.” Thomas is quiet for a moment. He slows to a stop, rests his elbows on the handles of the wheelchair, and sighs. “Sometimes it just be like that. You know? Like, you’re gonna joke about it, I may as well too.”

“Does it upset you?” James asks.

“Nah, Johto, it’s fine. Whatever you need to deal.”

“Cool.” James turns to face forward, pulling the blanket on his legs up around his waist. “Can we keep going?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” says Thomas. He starts pushing again, wiggling the handles a little. He’s rewarded by a snorting noise from James. 

“Thanks for bringing me outside or whatever,” says James. He’s silent for a long moment, then he shifts in the chair and adds, “I think I do feel a little better. You know?”

“No problem, Jorts,” says Thomas.

“If you ever call me that again,” says James, “I will destroy everything you have ever loved.”

“Is Gif better?” asks Thomas.

“You’re saying it wrong!”

“Juicy juice,” says Thomas. “Jack-o-lantern. Jazzman.”

“Will you ever run out of ridiculous nicknames?” James asks.

“Never,” says Thomas.

He can hear the grin in James’ voice when he says, “I guess I’ll just have to live with it then.”

Thomas stops again, leans forward, and kisses the top of James’ head. “I guess you will,” he says, and he starts pushing again.

 

* * *

 

“Surprise,” says Thomas, wheeling the new power chair into the apartment. “I thought this would be a good idea, considering -”

James looks at it in horror. “No,” he says. “No, I’m not that far gone, Thomas.”

Thomas glances at the chair, then looks at James. “Hasn’t it been nice going out?” he asks. 

“Yeah, but I don’t  _ need  _ a chair - we can keep renting them -”

“It costs a lot to keep doing that, James,” says Thomas. “And we can’t keep throwing money away. Like, yeah, these are expensive up front, but instead of paying over and over for something, now we just … own one. You can do whatever you want to it, put stickers all over it - look, I got you a sticker I think you’ll like.” He fishes around in his backpack for a moment, then pulls out a sticker and hands it to James. It’s about the size of a bumper sticker, printed with the trans flag and the words BIG GAY.

“I’ll take the sticker,” says James. “Not the chair.”

“No deal. It’s both or nothing,” says Thomas.

James hands the sticker back. “Nothing, then.”

“Dude, don’t be so stubborn,” Thomas sighs. “This way we can go anywhere, even on days when your crutches aren’t doing it for you.”

“I’m not weak,” says James.

“No one is calling you weak, Jolteon. I’m just trying to help you out,” Thomas says.

“You’re not gonna love me anymore,” James cries. “I’m just gonna keep getting sicker and sicker, and you’re gonna stop loving me.”

“Remember what Martha said when we went to see her?” Thomas asks gently. “Assume -”

“Best intent, yeah, I know,” James says. “But Thomas -”

“Jelly belly, I’m not gonna stop loving you,” says Thomas. “I’ve loved you since I was, like, a fetus.”

“We met in primary school,” James reminds him. He scrubs his eyes with his hands, rubbing away the tears that have started to fall.

“Exactly,” Thomas says. “When I was a fetus. Are you gonna try sitting in the chair or not?”

James laughs a little. He approaches the chair, looks it over, then lowers himself into it. “Comfy,” he admits.

“Cushiony on your ass so it doesn’t die,” says Thomas. “I asked which was the one with the softest seat and they were like, buy this fucking cushion, so I bought the fucking cushion.”

“You’re so nice to my ass,” says James.

“Well, if I can’t do anything else to it,” Thomas grins, “I may as well buy it a nice cushion.”

“Do you ever, like - I mean, do you sometimes, you know,” James fumbles, “do you - like - regret anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“With me,” James says. “That we can’t have sex normally.”

“What’s normal?” Thomas asks.

James shrugs. “You know, like gay dudes usually do -”

“Man, I don’t think there’s any  _ usually  _ about it,” Thomas says. “We do just fine, right? I’ve never heard you complain, at least, and I’m not complaining either.”

“There’s so much more that you could have, though, and I don’t give you enough,” James mumbles.

Thomas sighs. “We have this conversation so much and I always tell you -”

“It’s not on purpose. It just … happens.” James stands slowly, shakily, struggling a little. “I worry a lot. About us, I mean. About where we’re going. I took so much away from you, and what am I giving back?”

“You make me happy,” says Thomas simply.

“How?” asks James.

This is where Thomas always fumbles. “You make me smile,” he says slowly, trying his best to think quickly. “And you’re always really chill about my stims and shit. You’ve never made me feel like I’m a bad person for being autistic. And you’re funny when you want to be.”

“Is that enough?” James asks.

“Yeah, Jackalope,” says Thomas. “It is.”

“Okay.” James fidgets with the hem of his shirt, looking at the controls on the wheelchair. “Thanks for … you know. The thing. And the sticker.”

“Wanna put it on?” Thomas asks.

“Yeah,” says James, and he holds out his hand for the sticker. Thomas hands it back, then helps James kneel to apply the sticker to one wheel well.

“Now I just need a rainbow flag for the back,” James says. 

“We can arrange that. Wanna look online for stickers?” Thomas asks.

“Yeah,” says James.

“Meet you on the couch?” Thomas kisses James on the forehead, then goes to their bedroom to hunt for his laptop. It’s under the bed, where he tucks it at night when they’ve been watching Netflix before going to sleep. By the time he gets back to the couch, James is propped against one armrest, already looking half asleep.

Stickers can wait. Thomas puts his laptop on the coffee table, gently pulls James into his lap, and says, “you gonna nap, baby?”

“I guess so,” James mumbles. “Having emotions is exhausting.”

“Okay,” says Thomas. 

“Okay,” James echoes. He yawns and closes his eyes, and Thomas sits quietly, stroking long, smooth lines up and down James’ arm. It’s soothing, just to be still.

He thinks of those words that crossed through his mind,  _ he must find a place to be still, _ and wonders if he’s found it.

 

* * *

 

“How has your progress with James been?” George asks.

Thomas shrugs. “Fine, I guess? We’re arguing less. I think he’s still pissed about everything but we’re adjusting his meds. You know, up on one, down on another, then maybe adding another mood medication. Did you know his immune suppressants can cause irritability? I didn’t know that. Would have been nice if the doctor had told us.”

“How’s your relationship with his doctor? Do you both trust them?”

“Nah,” says Thomas, “but mostly ‘cause of gender stuff. Like, Jemmy isn’t a girl, but his doctor keeps doing that whole ‘biologically female’ thing. Which, like, doesn’t make sense, on account of he’s a dude. Right?”

“Right,” says George.

“So basically he sucks on ice, but he knows what’s he’s doing with medication. Mostly.”

“Is James seeing a psychiatrist, or is his GP handling his mood medication as well?” George asks.

“His GP does it all, but we’re waiting on a psych referral.”

“That should help. Sometimes you just need a mood expert to do the mood medication, and then the GP can handle the physical stuff. It’ll likely help with your personal relationship,” says George. “You know, to have someone really on the case for him.”

“Yeah.” Thomas twists his fingers together. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course,” says George. “You can tell me anything.”

“Sometimes I’m scared of what will happen if Jemmy gets better,” he says. He can’t look at George’s face. “What if things get easier for him and he doesn’t need me anymore?”

“You’re worried that you need to be doing things for him in order for your relationship to continue?” asks George.

“Yeah. Or like, that if things get easier, he’ll find someone better. You know? He’ll upgrade,” says Thomas.

“How likely is that to be true?”

Thomas stares at the floor. He knows time is passing and that he’s wasting precious minutes. Instead of answering, he asks, finally, “do you care about me?”

“I absolutely do,” says George.

“Not just as a client. But like, as a person. If I wasn’t paying you, would you hate me?”

“What brought this question on?”

“That’s not an answer,” Thomas points out.

George sighs. “I wouldn’t hate you,” he says. “I think you’re a wonderful person, and I think you have a lot of traits that should be celebrated. Your resilience, for one. It’s okay to need reassurance, but it’s also important to remember that we have a client-therapist relationship.”

“Yeah,” says Thomas. “Sorry.” He can feel his stomach churning with anxiety and shame.  “No need to apologize, Thomas. What brought that on?” George asks again.

“I just - feel expendable a lot of the time. Like if I wasn’t taking care of Jemmy then -” He pauses, then sits a little straighter in his chair. “Then someone else might do it, yeah, but no one else  _ has  _ been doing it. It’s been me, always. Right?”

“From what you’ve told me, yes,” says George.

“So like. It’s because I love him and I don’t - he doesn’t need to do anything back but he loves me too - we do these things because we love each other and not because we have to and even if he  _ didn’t  _ love me I’d still keep doing them, because I love  _ him  _ and that’s enough.”

“You look like you just had a realization,” says George.

“We can fix everything,” says Thomas. “I can’t put it into words but that’s what that means. He’s been working really hard, George. He’s been doing really well. And he’s doing it because he loves me, and I can see him getting better. Even though it’s hard. He’s getting better for us.”

“And you’re seeing these results?” George asks.

Thomas doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “if Jemmy got better then he’d still love me. Even if everything got better tomorrow he’d still love me. And I’ll always love him.”

“You seem a lot happier than you did when you walked in,” says George.

“I feel a lot better. I had a lot on my mind,” Thomas says. “But I think I just figured everything out.”

 

* * *

 

“You’ve been working really hard lately,” says Thomas that night, as he and James lie in bed side by side. They’re barely touching, just the tips of their fingers curled together. “I noticed you’re trying your best not to get upset and I really appreciate it. I appreciate  _ you, _ Jemingway. You’re doing great.”

James squeezes his fingers, then rolls over and puts his head on his Thomas’s chest. “It’s been hard,” he admits. “But things are so much nicer now. Thanks for being patient with me.”

Thomas runs his hand down James’ side and rests it at his hip. “We haven’t, you know - we haven’t gotten physical in a while,” he says. “Do you think - just for tonight - I could treat you?”

James is silent for a moment. “I need to shower first,” he says, finally. “Can you give me a hand?”

Thomas kisses the top of his head. “Of course,” he says. He extricates himself from underneath James, then helps him out of bed and into the bathroom. It’s always a little awkward helping James undress, simply because it’s hard to keep someone standing while yanking clothing off of them, but the two of them manage together. Thomas runs the water, maneuvers James into his shower chair, and starts scrubbing his back.

“You know,” says James, leaning back into the touch, “this is better than sex.”

Thomas grins. “Whatever gets you going, Juggalo.”

It always takes about a thousand years for James to shower. Thomas helps as much as he can; he shampoos James’ hair and washes the parts he can’t reach, mostly his back and his legs. By the time they’re done, James is exhausted. Thomas switches off the water and dries James off.

“I can get your pajamas once you’re in bed,” Thomas says. He helps James step over the clothes on the floor and gets him cozy in bed. Once James is lying down, he heads back into the bathroom, gathers his clothes, and tosses them at the foot of the bed as he returns.

“Thomas,” says James, as Thomas climbs into bed and kisses his forehead.

“Yeah?” asks Thomas.

“I’m not gonna be able to do anything for you,” says James. “I don’t have the energy.”

“Okay,” says Thomas.

“So if that’s okay - I mean, if it’s not, then we don’t have to -” James swallows. “I want you to know before we do anything.”

Thomas feels a surge of love aching in his chest. “I understand,” he says. “Tonight is about you. Okay? We can have a Thomas party another night.”

“Okay,” says James, and he grins. “Thank you, TJ.”

“No problem,” says Thomas. “Where do we start?”

James grins. “Wherever you want,” he says. “I’m all yours.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” says Thomas.

James doesn’t say anything else.

 

* * *

 

The new power chair is a success. Thomas loves being able to walk beside James and carry on a conversation, and James apparently loves being able to run over Thomas’ foot a dozen times every time they go for a walk.

“I’ll forgive you this time,” Thomas says every time.

“You’d better, or I’ll do it again,” James always replies.

The park near their apartment is large and sprawling, full of little ponds and winding paths. The wheels on James’ chair can tackle the dirt paths easily so the two of them usually spend the beginning of their mornings wandering through the park and getting thoroughly lost.

It’s a drizzly, overcast morning. Both of them carry umbrellas. Thomas reaches out to take James’ hand and says, “remember when we couldn’t do this? When you needed both your arms for your crutches?”

“I need one for the controls and one for my umbrella,” says James, but Thomas just takes the hand holding the umbrella and wraps his fingers around the handle too.

“Problem solved. Now it’s gay.”

James grins. “Everything we do is gay, in case you hadn’t noticed, Tater tot.”

Thomas gasps, an over exaggerated sound that’s far too loud. “You’re learning, Jocular,” he says with delight.

“Tomato,” counters James.

“Nah, that’s too close,” says Thomas. “You gotta get really far out there, like … Jentleman. Jeez whiz. Juggling ball.”

“No one will ever beat you for shitty nicknames,” says James.

They’ve reached their favourite pond, the one that’s usually full of ducks. The ducks seem to all be under cover today, and Thomas can’t blame them; being rained on isn’t fun for anyone, not even water birds. “Hey, Jemmy,” he says.

James cuts him off. “That one doesn’t count. Too real. Try again.”

“I’m trying to be serious for a second here, you little shit,” says Thomas.

“My mistake,” says James. “You’ve never been serious in your life so you can see how I would have mixed that up. Carry on.”

Thomas grins. “Well now I can’t ‘cause the pressure’s on.”

“Just say it, jeez,” says James.

“Okay, okay,” Thomas says. “Look. Okay. So - you know you’re the most important person in my life, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” says James.

“But like, when I say that, I mean it. There’s no one who matters to me as much as you do. And I know, for sure, I want to spend all my time with you. So -”

“You already do spend all your time with me,” James says, but he stops when Thomas kneels in front of him.

“James,” says Thomas, and James hides his face in his hands.

“Oh gosh,” he whispers.

Thomas reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little grey box. When he pops it open, he worries, for a moment, that the ring won’t be there - but of course it is, a simple gold band that shines even in the gloom of the day.

“Will you marry me?” Thomas asks.

“Thomas -” James starts.

“I want to spend forever with you,” Thomas tells him.

That’s when James starts to cry. “It won’t be forever,” he says. “Not for you, at least. I’m going to die early - we both know that - and you should be with someone who can stay with you.”

“Do you want to marry me or not?” Thomas asks.

“I mean, duh,” says James, and Thomas slips the ring onto his finger.

“Good. Now it’s official. We have to get married or you suck,” he says.

“Thomas, I’m serious. It won’t be forever -”

“No,” says Thomas, “it won’t be  _ my  _ forever. But it’ll be  _ your  _ forever, and right now, that’s what matters to me.”

“What are you gonna do when I’m gone, then?” James asks.

“Dude, what a bummer of a question. Let’s just focus on being engaged for a little bit, okay?” Thomas stands and kisses James soundly on the forehead. “Focus on your forever.”

“My forever,” James echoes, and he twists the ring on his finger. “Thomas, I love you.”

Thomas feels giddy. “I love you too,” he echoes.

“And is that enough?” James asks.

_ It has to be  _ passes through Thomas’ mind, but this time that isn’t the right answer. “It is,” he says, and he means it.

It’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> i always feel a little blue finishing a series. comments and kudos help ease the agony. chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com)


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